Women

I feel overwhelmingly sorry for girls,
For the way that their worth is judged by aesthetic.
One day it’s lipstick and one day it’s curls,
Clothing that laughs at the cold and their ethics .

They see billboards littered with cleavage and thighs,
And airbrushed faces that grimace with beauty.
Naked, they curse at their profile, their size,
A diet, a facelift becoming a duty.

Pornography serves them up like a roast,
A conciliatory slab to be viewed and abused.
We come to think that passion’s a ghost,
To be resurrected once the position is assumed.

In some ways, being a man is no better,
Biology plaguing all rational thought.
And once it appears no collection of letters,
Can spell out these lessons we’ll never be taught.